Second Guessing
by lilidelafield
Summary: Written for the WHAT IF? Challenge on Section VII. WHAT IF Illya had always worked in Section VIII? Waverly has reason to begin doubting one of his past decisions . . .


SECOND GUESSING

Alexander Waverly looked from the viewing gallery into the critical care room of the medical department, his heart breaking as he watched the staff pumping the chest of his best agent, struggling to keep him alive, whilst his partner stood back against the farthest wall out of the way, watching the scene with wide, shocked eyes.

Usually it was the other way around. It was usually Napoleon sitting vigil over his partner, and one by one they had all died. It had always been a struggle to find a partner that could keep up with Solo, and each man whom had been partnered with the CEA had either been killed by their own foolish enthusiasm, or had been scared away and left section two. One man had left the command altogether and now delivered milk in Ohio. This man, Peter Adkins had seemed a much more likely fit, and he had outlasted all the others. At first, Waverly had got the impression that they had at last found the perfect man to partner Mister Solo, but then Solo was starting to get injured a lot more than before. Re-reading their individual reports and reading between the lines, Waverly was beginning to wonder if his initial thoughts had been in error after all. He tapped on the glass and Adkins turned. Waverly beckoned and Adkins nodded and left the room. They sat side by side in the viewing gallery, watching as Solo was finally stabilized once more.

"So, what happened Mister Adkins?"

"You have my report, sir."

"I know, but I cannot interrupt a report to ask questions. Tell me what happened? Why is it that Mister Solo always gets hurt when I send you out together on the simplest of missions; and yet I send him out alone on a very dangerous and risky mission and he comes back unharmed?"

Adkins' mouth moved, but no sound emerged. Finally, he turned to his boss.

"I always thought I was a good agent, Mister Waverly. When I was partnered with Josiah Willis, we were always successful, rarely either of us got hurt…I thought I could handle anything. Napoleon has lost too many partners, sir. I am not quite able to keep up with him, and he doesn't want me to end up dead or transferred like the others. I think he feels that it is a reflection upon him. As CEA, he feels responsible, so he has been…um…"

Waverly nodded.

"Taking the extra chances himself, where you would normally share the load."

"I wanted to transfer to section three, sir, but he would not hear of it."

"He feels that it is simply a matter of training. Get a good man and train him well enough…"

Waverly looked at the young man. Adkins was the ninth in a long succession of failed partners for Napoleon Solo. No one had quite the level of skill and intuition that would be needed to match Napoleon in the field, and successfully guard his back. Now it looked like a tenth may not be needed.

He thought back over the last five years, at the different men whom had come and gone from the command. None of them had had the so called "right stuff" had they…Waverly frowned suddenly. He recalled way back he had fought and struggled through red tape and diplomatic problems to secure the services of a promising young Russian agent whom had come through survival school with flying colours. He had even bettered some of Solo's Survival School records, and had even spent an extra month on the island passing on some of his expertise in explosives. Waverly had managed to get the young man assigned to New York, but he had been under such a barrage of dire threats about the repercussions from the Soviet Government if something happened to their agent, that he had eventually capitulated, and assigned the young man to work in section eight, down in the labs.

Young Kuryakin was a talented scientist, and seemed to enjoy the work. He had made great strides for the U.N.C.L.E during his time down there, too. He had created a new, slimline version of the communicators that was also a pen, a flashlight, a miniature rapier, and a compass. He had created an explosive device that could be carried by an agent invisibly as a false fingernail that could not be distinguished from the real thing. He had created miniature grenades that looked like blue jelly beans, but that rendered everyone within fifty feet unconscious for ten minutes. He had worked with the other scientists and with medical to create an antidote that could be safely given before a mission and helped give their agents additional protection against THRUSH truth serums.

Kuryakin had become the "lab man", the one technical genius that could be relied upon to come up with an answer to any operational problem. If the section two agents decided that they needed some new gadget to be designed for a particular purpose, it was the "lab man", Kuryakin they went to. They had never come away disappointed.

Waverly also recalled watching the young man on the practice range. He was aware that Kuryakin had, over the years he was here, taken care to keep his physical fitness and skills honed. Kuryakin's results on the range had been almost perfect. He was still a skilled sharpshooter, despite the years spent down in the labs. Still he was regularly to be found in the gym, and when one took the trouble to watch him, his strength and stamina were astonishing.

The young man had been something of an expert in languages too, when he came. He had spoken five fluently, and six others reasonably. Now it was a matter of record that his eleven languages were now all fluent, and he was in the process of learning several more. The man seemed to be a sponge, soaking up knowledge. Waverly wondered if he had an eidetic memory?

Had he been wrong to give in to the Soviet threats? Kuryakin had never once complained about his assignment to section eight. If he had come to New York expecting, as was reasonable, to be assigned to section two he had never said so. Waverly wondered how the young man would fare on the field now? He seemed like he had deliberately been keeping his field qualifications fresh and up to date, as though secretly hoping that he would one day be transferred to his real job. Perhaps now might be the time to ignore Soviet threats, and put young Kuryakin where he should have put him right at the start. In the field, as Napoleon Solo's partner.

He looked up as a siren went off in the critical care room in front of him, and he heard Adkins swear loudly.

The machines monitoring Napoleon Solo's life-signs showed only a straight line. Suddenly the noise was cut off, and a sheet was being draped over the man's face. Waverly went white with shock.

It was too late. Too late to correct his mistake. Too late to give Solo the partner he had deserved. Too late. Napoleon Solo was dead.

"Mister Waverly, wake up! Sir, wake up sir!"

Waverly jogged himself awake and stared with wide staring eyes at the face before him. Black hair, brown eyes, wide smile…Waverly rubbed his eyes and realized he was sitting slumped in a chair in the waiting room at medical. Napoleon Solo was sitting beside him.

"Are you alright, Mister Waverly?"

"Yes, yes, fine. I dropped off to sleep. I was…I must have been tired."

"Are you sure you're alright, sir? You were…er…you must have been dreaming. You seemed upset."

Waverly nodded.

"How is our young Russian friend?"

"Illya is out of danger, sir. They got him into surgery just in time. We'll get THRUSH sir, for what they have done. Fortunately, Illya is as strong as an ox. He'll be back in the field with me within a month."

Waverly nodded, fumbling for his handkerchief. Solo watched him, filled with concern.

"Are you sure you are alright, sir?"

"Yes. I was sitting here second guessing myself, Mister Solo. We have a huge asset here in the person of Mister Kuryakin, and the number of times we have almost lost him I started wondering what might have been different if I had put him in the lab rather than in section two."

"Is that what you were dreaming about? What happened in your dream, sir?"

Waverly walked to the window and looked down at the young Russian lying peacefully sleeping the other side of the glass, and then at his companion. He looked at Solo's worried expression and shook his head.

"He would be a huge asset to us down there, but…" he smiled. "I stand by my original decision. We need Illya Kuryakin right where he is. In the field."


End file.
